Iridescent
by TheGraveyardChild
Summary: This is a modern AU based off of the WebToon comic "Resplendent" by Diby Doodle. It's a multi-shot in progress with an intended four chapters. Harold is the crown prince of the country. Erart is a talented ballet dancer. When their paths meet, the stars cross and the pursuit of happiness is all anyone could have wished for.
1. Part 1

_Erart's Perspective_

The lights dimmed as Erart took his final bow. The curtains closed, and the muscles in his shoulder relaxed. His lungs released a deep breath that he didn't realize he had been holding. It was over. The music had ceased. It had been another successful show, another night where he poured his heart out into his craft. The second his ears had heard the music, all of his efforts went to ballet. All of his focus went into performing the musical and choreographic genius that was Swan Lake. Over the course of his life and his entire dancing career, this had been his favorite show to perform. And contrary to popular casting for the role, he had been cast as the swan. Other dancers that were envious of his casting told him that he was only awarded the role because of his beautiful naturally white hair, but as envy was one of the seven deadliest sins a human could commit as well as one of the easiest, he never took what they said to heart. He knew his hair wasn't the reason but rather it was his talent, skill, and dedication to the sport. Erart never proclaimed this to them, however, because he knew if he did, his pride would overcome him. Instead, he very humbly said that it couldn't possibly be something so trivial. He was just fortunate enough to have been selected.

Erart loved to dance. He had tried other sports before, but there were none that required such poise, precision, and dedication as ballet did. And each day that he practiced, each show that he performed in made him stronger, and stronger was what he wanted to be. He needed to be. Dance was such a competitive sport. In order to succeed, he had to be better than everyone else. It was hard to develop friendships within your circle of fellow dancers because backstabbing was common, too. He had tried his hardest to avoid the drama and to keep the friendships he managed to make, but that was no easy feat especially when he had become the prima ballerina of a show that was designed to have a woman as the lead role. He now walked with a target on his back. Sin was so easy to succumb to, and he wouldn't put it past some to force him out of the way.

Erart left the stage and made his way back to his dressing room. He was tired. His muscles were on fire. Sweat ran down from his brow and coated his pale skin in a shiny slickness. Tonight was another night in which he had poured his heart and soul into his art. He had danced his very hardest, and at the end of the night when the applause from the crowd rang through his ears, he found it was worth it. It always was.

Once he was in the confines of his private dressing room, he stripped out of his costume and padded over to the ensuite bathroom. He turned on the shower and stood under the water as it warmed up. It was cold as all hell, and it made him shiver, but the cold also helped his tired muscles relax. He stood there for a long while, until the water got hot and then cold again. He didn't bother getting out sooner. He didn't want to be swarmed in the lobby. He didn't want to be around his fellow dancers. He just wanted to relax and breathe for a few minutes. When he got out of the shower, he towel-dried his hair and got dressed before leaving out the back alley door of the theatre in sweatpants and a hoodie, his pointe shoes draped around his neck by the ribbon.

The cool winter air bit at him as he walked down the alley. He kind of wished he had blow-dried his hair completely before leaving, but he at least had the tall buildings around him to protect him from the majority of the wind. Just as he got closer to the end of the alley, Erart noticed someone leaning against the brick wall of the theatre, smoking a cigarette. His steps faltered slightly. He was really hoping this was someone just attempting to smoke without the bite of the wind and not someone who wanted to mug him. He was half tempted to turn back and take the long way around, and he would have had the person not started talking to him.

"Honestly, you're a lot ruder than I thought you would be," his milky voice said as he snubbed out his cigarette on the brick wall of the building.

"I beg your pardon?" Erart asked, his brows raised in shock.

"The rest of the cast came to meet the crowd over an hour ago, and here you are slipping out the back. My employer is very disappointed," he said.

Erart scowled and looked at the man before him. In the darkness, all that he could tell was that the man had long hair and glasses. If he had not spoken, Erart would have easily mistaken him for a woman.

"And who is your employer?" Erart asked cautiously. He was curious as to the person who would send his employee to corner him in the alleyway outside of his dressing room.

The man flicked a card out at Erart from between his fingers. Erart was about to grab it when another voice called out from further down the alley. The card was yanked away.

"Eins?" the voice called. "Where the hell did you go?"

Erart narrowed his eyes at the man before him. "Is that your employer?"

Before this 'Eins' fellow could answer, another man appeared at the end of the alleyway. He looked confused at the sight before him.

"What the hell, Eins?" the man said as he approached Erart and Eins in the alley. He had his hand on his forehead in shock and frustration. "I asked you to find him. Not drag him into an alley and corner him."

"I didn't drag him here," Eins said with a shrug. "I deduced where his dressing room was and patiently waited for him here so I could tell him off for being rude. That's all."

"As if that's any better. Class A stalker," the unnamed man said, shaking his head. "And I'm sure you told him I put you up to this." Eins shrugged as if he hadn't a care in the world. "Of course you did."

Erart looked at the pair a gobsmacked looked on his face. "Excuse me. I'm still here."

Eins looked at him with a scowl. "We noticed."

Erart opened his mouth, closed it, opened it once more before resolutely snapping it shut. _What the actual fuck is going on here?_

The unnamed man sighed and gently rubbed at his temples. "And you call him rude," he said with another shake of his head. "I apologize for my associate's lack of tact. I'm Harold. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Erart looked at this man in the darkness. As soon as he heard the name, he made a connection to the face. The white-haired male immediately bowed his head to the man before him. "The pleasure is mine, Prince Harold."

The young prince waved off the formality with an annoyed expression on his face. "If I had wanted you to address me by my title, I would have introduced myself with it."

"My apologies," Erart said.

"Look, I only sent Eins to find you because I thought your performance was, well, rather good," he said.

If it had been lighter in the alley, Erart would have noticed Harold's blush, but in the near pitch blackness, he was lucky to have made out the Prince's face.

"Thank you," Erart said, scratching the back of his head. He felt a small flutter in his chest.

He was used praise from his coaches and directors and random patrons, but from Prince Harold himself? Erart was over the moon. The Prince saying those words was a dream come true. He had never expected to get noticed by the royal family. And Prince Harold was his favorite, of course. He watched his interviews whenever they came on TV. And it wasn't because he found the political topics interesting. Despite his devotion to god and the outright sin of the situation, he actually might have had a tiny baby crush-like attraction to the young Prince. Erart literally felt as if he were in a dream. If Harold and Eins were not standing before him now, he would have pinched himself.

"I think it would be wonderful if you joined me for lunch tomorrow afternoon at the palace," Harold said, scratching the back of his head.

Erart's brows shot upward. His heart started beating so loudly and uncontrollably in his chest he was sure the duo beside him would hear. This was a dream come true. "I'd be honored."

"Alright, I will see you tomorrow at noon, then," Harold said with a baby smile playing on his lips. "Eins will pick you up. What is your address?"

"2301 west Forrod drive," he said sheepishly. "Flat 221B."

And with that, the pair turned to leave. Before Harold went around the corner, however, he said, "I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Erart."

A car that looked way too nice for Erart's crummy street pulled outside of his flat. He eyed it for a moment before he decided that it had to be that Eins fellow coming to get him for his lunch outing with Prince Harold. And he wasn't going to lie. He was nervous. The two men had cornered him in the alley and caught him off guard. He hadn't had the chance to think things through when he agreed to this. Lunch with the prince? What the fuck was he thinking? He was a dancer. He didn't have the social status to be dining with the prince, but because he had already agreed, he wasn't going to back down now. And he wasn't going to let his nerves show. He was too proud for that.

Because of his job, he at least had plenty to wear. Erart was always prepared to go to galas and the like at the request of his performance company. Now, he didn't usually have the tact as such events, and more often than not, that was because of his pride. It often made him say regrettable things in the heat of the moment. Still, he was equipped with plenty of nice suits. He didn't want to show up to lunch with a _prince _in jeans and a t-shirt. He was sure that compared to Harold, his department store suits would still be considered underdressed.

Erart walked outside and approached the sleek black car, his gym bag slung over his shoulder. After this, he had planned to practice at the studio. The studio was closer to downtown, so Erart figured that wherever they went for lunch would be a hell of a lot closer than his flat. As Erart came closer to the car, the window rolled down. Eins sat in the driver's seat, his glasses perched delicately on his nose.

"Back seat, _please_," Eins drawled. His tone irritated Erart and so did his request, if one could call it that.

Erart wrinkled his nose. "What is this? Driving Miss Daisy?"

The man rolled his eyes at Erart's pop-culture reference. "Don't be stubborn. Just get in the car. We're hardly on time as it is."

Erart opened the back door of the car and slid in with a shrug. "That's not my fault."

Eins glared at his from the front seat. The pair drove in silence for only a few short minutes before the very blunt driver started speaking again.

"I haven't the slightest clue what's going through your head right now, but if your intentions vary far from my expectations, I will personally see that you don't make it home alive tonight," he said, glaring at Erart once again through the rearview mirror.

Erart returned the glare. "I haven't given you a reason to threaten me, and if you want to do so, I'll duck and roll my way out of this car faster than you can brake. Have fun explaining that to your employer."

"And risk getting mugged or shot in the low end of town?"

"I grew up in these neighborhoods. I can make my way around pretty easily," Erart said with a narrowed gaze. "That being said, remember it was _your_ employer who invited _me_ here. It was _you_ who cornered me to ensure that that message was delivered."

Eins glanced back at him in the review again. "Touché," he said. "Then I'll get straight to the point. Prince Harold fancies you."

Erart was gobsmacked. "Excuse me?"

Eins rolled his eyes behind those thick-lenses glances once again. "I swear, the poorer you are the deafer you become. Harold fancies you. Don't make me repeat myself again."

Erart's head was reeling. Prince Harold? Fancy him? That was absolutely absurd. Yeah, sure, Erart had a tiny crush on him, but he simply admired from afar. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he'd act on that crush. And if his father ever found out, he'd disown Erart's sorry ass. Erart's father was very openly homophobic. If he even questioned the idea of openly dating another man, he'd end up in his father's poor graces. He didn't want to upset his poor mother, either. All of this was so confusing and forward. Hell, he didn't even know if...

"How do I know you're not lying to me?" Erart asked, eyes narrowed.

"I've cared for and loved Harold since as long as I can remember," Eins said. "But I value my position to my country, too. I can't have both, so I chose my position. Harold loved me back, but as of recently, I can tell that that love has changed. He views me less as a significant other and more as a dear friend."

"How can you tell?"

"It's something you just know after a while, I suppose," Eins said softly, morosely even. "Besides, ever since you were cast as the Tin Soldier in the Nutcracker two years ago when the prince saw it, he has been absolutely taken with you. He's watched every interview of you that he can find on YouTube."

Erart flushed a bright red and groaned inwardly. Those interviews were more often than not God awful. For the vast majority of them he had been so nervous. There were only a handful of good ones. One glance at Eins told him that that was what the nobleman had wanted to see. His despair.

"So, I assume you can understand why Harold was disappointed when you didn't appear at the end of the show last night. But, ah, I do believe that this is our destination."

Eins had pulled up in front of a small cafe. The storefront was lit up with twinkling little fairy lights, giving the place the most fantastical, iridescent glow. It was on the smaller side, which made it all that more appealing the Erart. He preferred the mom and pop shops to the larger commercial chains. They were quieter and typically more homey.

After parking, he and Eins walked into the cafe to find Prince Harold talking to another man with long, blond hair that was knotted at the back of his head into a bun. When the duo saw them approach, Harold smiled at him.

"Erart, I'm glad you could make it."

Before Erart could get in a word edgewise, Eins' clipped tone cut through. "Harold, what the _fuck_ is _he_ doing here?"

"Oh, Brandon?" Harold asked, scratching the back of his head. "I figured instead of having you sit alone, you'd rather have someone to talk to. Brandon just happened to be passing by, so..."

Eins sent Harold such a reproachful and disgusted glare that Erart thought the prince would melt under the intensity of it. "I would have much preferred my silence with my book."

Brandon didn't seem to take the hint and instead smiled broadly. "Come on, Eins-"

"Lord Bernham," Eins interrupted.

"-We have so much catching up to do. I found us the perfect table over this way by the Christmas tree."

When they were gone, Harold sent Erart another smile. "There's a table in the loft upstairs that I like."

"That sounds fine," Erart replied.

They walked up a spiral set of to a small loft area. It had a vintage theme to it, with old painted chairs that were worn to the natural wood color and chess boards for tables. No one else was in there aside from the pair of them. They sat down and Harold heaved out a sigh as he shed his overcoat lazily onto the back of the chair. Just as Erart had expected, he felt very underdressed compared to the prince. Harold didn't seem to notice. And in such a close proximity to the prince, Erart could smell the faint, woodsy scent of his cologne.

"I feel bad for leaving him with Bran. Eins hates him because he threw a rock at his face when we were all kids," Harold said, glancing toward the stairs.

"I don't," Erart replied without thinking. He immediately followed up with a blush and a "Sorry."

"It's okay. Eins can be..." He trailed off.

"Blunt?" he offered.

"Precisely. I'm sure he was threatening you on your way here?"

Erart nodded. He glanced at the table after the thoughts of Eins' earlier worlds surfaced. _Prince Harold fancies you._

"I asked him _not_ to do that," he muttered. Harold then seemed to notice he had something on his mind. "What else did he say?"

Erart looked up, but all he could do was blush. The blush told Harold all he needed to know. A deep crimson flush that mirrored Erart's own spread across Harold's cheeks. He pinched the bridge of his nose in misery.

"He's terrible at keeping personal secrets. Secrets of the state, no issues, but when it comes to who I _fancy_?" he said incredulously. His next words were filled with a playful yet chilling venom. "I have zero remorse about leaving him with Brandon."

Erart averted his gaze. The very thought of Harold fancying him still perplexed him, especially now that he had heard it from Harold's own lips.

"I'm sorry. This is awkward. I mean you no disrespect. I don't know if you even _like_ men. You don't have to stay if you don't want to. I can have Eins take you back. Or if you don't want to be with him, I can hail a cab-"

Erart shook his head quickly. "No, it's okay. It's just a little surreal. This is like some corny Hallmark movie. I mean, a broke, talented dancer who had a boyish, childhood crush on the heir to the throne of the country and that very same prince fancying the dancer. Correct me if I'm wrong, but this literally feels like a Hallmark movie."

Harold smiled a little bit, a coy and cunning smile. "So you have a boyhood crush on me?"

Erart blushed again. "Hey, don't change the subject."

Harold smirked. "Then I guess, yes, it feels like a Hallmark movie. But how would you know that? How much of your free time do you spend watching the Hallmark channel?"

Erart opened and closed his mouth a few times in shock. He had just revealed a guilty pleasure of his so casually, so flippantly in front of the crown prince of the country. "I work with a cast of women. What else do you think they want to watch when we hang out?" he stammered.

Before Harold could say anything else, their server came upstairs. After gushing over the fact that the prince was there with _the swan_, she took their order. Harold got a coffee and a sandwich. Erart got a milkshake and pancakes. Even though he should have been on a strict diet, he craved something sweet.

"So, how did you get into dancing?" Harold asked after the waitress left.

"When I was a kid, I had a friend. She loved to dance, and she brought me with. I loved it. It was better exercise than secondary school P.E. could offer," he said with a gentle, fond smile as he thought of the early days in the studio. "I never cared for sport, either. Father wasn't fond of that, but I was scouted and they paid for my dance degree so it was out of his hands."

"You sound like you love it," Harold observed.

"Without it, I'd never be able to continue breathing."

Harold leaned his head on his hand, a look of understanding spreading across his handsome features. "So, you never answered my question."

"What question?"

"Are you interested in men?" Harold asked, looking directly at the checkered pattern of the chessboard table.

Erart pursed his lips. That question... "It's complicated. I mean, I am, but I don't think I'll ever be able to act upon those whims lest my family disown me," Erart said softly, a pained and conflicted look in his eyes. Even if he were to court a prince, he was sure his father would denounce the throne. It was a clusterfuck. And... "I also don't want to go to hell, and that's a surefire way to get me a one-way ticket."

Harold looked at Erart with a furrowed brow. "Unknown to the public, my father and I are atheists."

Erart's eyes grew wide. "How? But-"

"I can't believe that some benevolent being out there that watches the people of this world slaughter each other. So I choose to believe that there is no one there."

"And I can't believe in nothing, that there is no purpose to life because then what am I living for?"

"To be happy, I suppose. To live as fulfilling a life as you can."

Erart furrowed his brows in contemplation. He hadn't expected that from Harold. The royal family came off as the typical believing-in-God, church-going type. For them to put on this grand of a show for the sake of the public eye, Erart was impressed. He couldn't condone the fact that they were atheists, but they had gone to great lengths to keep it a secret.

"I will try to wrap my head around this, but understand if I can't," Erart said, not making eye contact.

"Of course," Harold replied.

The waitress broke the awkward silence by bringing their lunch up. After she left, Erart made the quick decision to change the subject.

"So, I've told you about me. You tell me about you. Aside from being an atheist."

Harold chuckled. "Ah, I don't know what to say. My life is pretty out there. The media loves to shred us apart whenever they get the chance," he said with a shrug.

Erart rolled his eyes. "I don't want to hear the shit they spew. I want to hear what you think."

Harold looked as if he was mulling over what details to share with him before he said, "I like philosophy."

"What's your favorite part about it?"

Again, Harold took a moment to collect his thoughts. "I suppose the pursuit of happiness," he said. When Erart returned his words with a blank stare, he continued on to explain. "I believe that all people share one common goal, and that goal is to achieve happiness. You dance because it makes you happy. I fancy men because it makes me happy. My father has a harem because it makes me happy. Hell, serial killers _murder_ because it makes them happy."

"Your father has a harem?" Erart blurted out.

A dramatic eye roll ensued from Harold. "My late mother wasn't even in her grave for more than twenty-four hours before that man had three women two years my junior on his arm."

"He's going to hell," Erart once again blurted out.

Harold chuckled again. "You're cute, you know. I like that you say what's on your mind."

The white-haired male blushed. He wasn't used to being called _cute_. "Thank you. I usually get told that that is a pretty major character flaw."

"I don't think so. I think the world needs to hear the truth. I never expected it from you is all," he said. "On stage, you look so much more tame. But I suppose the way you dance should have told me more. You have so much fire in you, too."

"Prince Harold, are you flirting with me?" Erart asked, using mock surprise.

"I might be. And please, Erart, just call me Harold."

Erart smiled wistfully to himself. "Well, I think I like it, so I would appreciate it if you didn't stop."

Harold's hand crept across the table to reach for Erart's when the waitress came rushing up the spiral stairs. Both men retracted their hands immediately.

"Uhm, your Majesty," the nervous girl said through heavy breaths. "Your friends downstairs, the one with the long, dark hair, he's, uh, threatening the other friend of yours. He's got a butter knife. I just thought you should know."

Harold groaned inwardly. "Leave it to Eins to ruin my personal time, honestly," he muttered. "I do apologize, Erart, but I need to get Bran away from Eins. Don't worry about the bill. Also, my driver will take you wherever you need to go."

Erart nodded. He was honestly a little disheartened that their time together had been cut short. He hadn't even finished his pancakes.

"I would like to do this again sometime. Please," Harold said as he gathered up his coat.

Erart nodded again. "I would, too."

And with that, Prince Harold was gone, leaving behind the faint scent of his cologne and Erart's erratically beating heart.


	2. Part 2

_Erart's Perspective_

Erart's heart was pounding and sweat dripped down from his temples. He had "Never Enough" from _The Greatest Showman_ blaring through the speakers in his flat as he practiced a sequence of turn en pointe. He had been over this portion of the routine at least fifteen times now, and his feet ached. He had been through several long hours of practice, but his skills were still not where he needed them to be. He was determined to keep up with the demands of being a dancer so he put himself through the training. But he was _fucking_ distracted. Erart's head was filled with thoughts of the handsome prince. Harold had successfully protruded his way into Erart's thought and left him completely and utterly infatuated. Had his head been in the music and the movement, he wouldn't have kept fucking up these turns.

Erart heaved out a sigh and stopped the music once again. He needed to focus on practicing, not on when the prince would contact hi. Harold said he wanted to do lunch or something again. But Erart had neglected to either ask for Harold's number or offer up his own. But he had to let bygones be bygones. Woe was him, but that still didn't change the fact that he needed to practice.

He snatched up his water and drank about half of it before plopping down on his sofa for a short rest. He was tired. His hair was matted to his forehead. That was something else he needed to take care of. Erart palmed the coffee table for a pin and when he found one, he used it to pin back a chunk of his bangs. It was his bum day. As much as he prided himself on his appearance, today was a bum day. He had no intention of leaving his house. It was blizzarding outside anyway.

Erart stood back up after a moment's rest, shooking out his arms and legs, and restarted the song. This time, his head was in the music. His body flowed with the tempo of the music, following the simple routine he had set up for himself. There was a certain mindset he entered when he could actually concentrate. His body moved so fluidly, so delicately, so naturally. When it came to the turns at the end of the song, Erart was sure he'd finally nail it. But as fate would fucking have it, just as those last three came along, his doorbell blared through the flat like an angry buzzer, startling him. When the last "for me" tinkled out of the speakers, Erart was falling to the floor in a heap as opposed to slowing his turns until he ended gracefully in a bow. Erart groaned in frustration and once again stopped the music on his phone. If only the bell had waited. Thirty. More. Fucking. Seconds. Who would come to visit him anyway? It was Sunday. He never did anything on Sundays because usually, he had a performance. Today's had been canceled because of the hoards of snow outside. One glance out his window showed him nothing but a winter wonderland.

The doorbell buzzed again, and Erart groaned, picking himself up off of the floor. He didn't bother taking off his pointe shoes and just waddled his way down the stairs, nursing the bruise h could already feel on his hip. When he swung open the door, Erart was fully prepared to tell off anyone standing there, but the words died on his lips.

"Harold?" he asked, his brows raised in surprise.

The prince stood before him on his from stoop, covered in snow. He was bunkered down in what seemed to be a down coat, hat, scarf, and gloves, but he also seemed frozen to the core, what with his fancy leather shoes and dress pants.

"Erart, h-hi. Sorry to barge in on y-you like this, but can I come in?" Harold asked, his words stuttered from his chattering teeth.

"Yes, of course," Erart stammered, stepping aside to allow Harold entrance to the building.

Erart didn't intend on leaving him the shitty foyer of the building, so he led him up the flight of stairs to his flat. When he opened the door, he mentally cursed himself for the state of his living room. His sofa and coffee table were pushed off against a wall to clear the space in the center of the room. This had served as Erart's practice space for the afternoon. He was sure his neighbors were over his thumping around, but Erart didn't care. He practiced at home once in a blue moon. They could deal with it. Erart just wished he had chosen a different day to practice. He couldn't be watching Christmas movies or something that left his flat put-together.

"Were you practicing?"

Erart shot an embarrassed glance around him flat. He planned to remedy this situation as quickly as he possibly could.

"Sorry about that," he said. "I wasn't expecting company, what with the storm."

Harold shrugged as he very gracefully shed his winter coat and hung it on the coat tree near Erart's door. He slipped off his soaking, leather shoes, too. "I wasn't expecting to come over."

"Then why did you?" Erart winced as soon as the words came out. That was a little more than blunt. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Harold said with a wry smile, but he completely avoided the actual question. "Do you mind if I borrow some clothes? I don't exactly think this afternoon will be enjoyable if me and my clothes soak through your sofa."

Erart nodded quickly and walked over to his bedroom. He heard footsteps behind him, signaling that Harold had followed. Erart's bedroom was small, but it was tidy and well furnished in lovely silvers and deep, emerald greens that complimented his hair well. His walls were a light grey with the one behind the headboard of his bed as a dark viridian. His bedspread was a lighter green accented with silver sheets and pillows. The furniture in his room had all been crafted by his grandfather. It was a beautiful, dark stained oak carved with lovely intricate patterns. His grandfather made it for him when he was accepted to dance school. The man was proud of Erart for following his dreams despite his crotchety son's wishes. He crossed to the dresser and opened the top drawer. Looking inside, he found nothing that would be suitable for a prince. He didn't think his jeans would fit Harold's slender body, but maybe sweatpants, a t-shirt, and a hoodie? He turned to Harold, who was eyeing his bedroom with interest.

"It's simple," he said with a bemused smile. "I like it."

"Thank you," Erart said with a blush. "Uhm, I haven't done my laundry yet, so I really only have sweatpants and hoodies."

Harold shrugged. "Anything will be better than what I'm currently in."

Erart grabbed a few things from his drawers and handed them to Harold along with a pair of bright, fuzzy socks. "The bathroom is the second door on your right."

While Harold went to change, Erart went to the living and plopped down on the sofa which was pushed against a wall. He began to untie the black ribbons of his pointe shoes. He has always loved the black ones. He felt as if they made such a lovely, stark contrast to his skin which was pale as snow. In Swan Lake, he had to wear white, which never felt right. He slipped the pointe shoes off and set them on the floor beside him. He then pulled the feet of his tights up over his toes and to his ankles for ballet tights have that lovely sewn-in hole below the arch of one's foot. He looked at the state of his feet and lamenting his own idiocy. His toes were red and inflamed. He probably could have cut his practice short earlier, but he hadn't had a reason to. Now he had a reason. He'd be grateful when he could walk around without looking like a penguin in front of Harold.

The bathroom door opened and Harold came padding soundlessly toward Erart in those lovely, bright teal polkadot fuzzy socks. Erart allowed a small smile to grace his lips when he saw Harold. The prince crossed over toward Erart and sat down on the sofa beside him, only a foot or two of space between them.

"What were you practicing?"

Erart once again looked around his disarrayed living room. "I choreographed a routine to the song "Never Enough" from _The Greatest Showman_. I was really working on my turns en pointe." Erart looked at Harold who had a blank expression on his face. So he loved philosophy but didn't understand a thing about dance.

"I enjoy watching, but I haven't the slightest clue what you're talking about."

"That's okay."

"You look cute in your dancing things. Your hair looks cute, too," Harold said with a sly smile.

Erart's hands flew to his head, palming for the pin he had stuck in there to hold his bangs back. He ripped it out of his hair and groaned loud enough for Harold to hear. He hated when people saw his messily pulled-back hair. He especially hated that Harold had the opportunity to see it.

"Don't worry," Harold said, reaching for Erart's hand again as he had in the cafe and taking it into his chilled grasp.

Erart's mind was racing yet again. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Harold was coming onto him. The warning flags were flying in his head, but he had no idea what was appropriate to do. Squeeze his hand back? Smile at him? Kiss him? Erart had no idea. He could only think to ask the same question he had earlier, only nicer this time.

"So what brought you to my humble abode?"

"Ah... It's a bit embarrassing," Harold muttered sheepishly. "I got into a dispute with my father, and I decided to go for a drive. Then the blizzard hit, and I got stuck. I would have called Eins, but my phone died. I didn't know where else to go, and I remembered your address, so I decided to come here. I hope you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind at all. I was actually..." _Hoping you were coming. Find you incredibly handsome. Don't care that you're a prince. Want to spend any time that I can with you because you make my heart race faster than it ever has before._ "Was looking to have the company anyway."

Harold smiled at him. "Well, I'm glad that I could fill the lonesome."

_No, I'm glad you actually came. I was afraid it was all a dream._ "Are you hungry? I'm by no means a professional chef, but I can at least make a good, homemade grilled cheese and tomato soup."

"That sounds amazing. Thank you."

Erart moved to his small kitchen, and Harold followed. He dug through the fridge and pulled out tomatoes and a few other ingredients for the soup as well as cheese and butter for the sandwiches. Erart didn't want to cook in silence, so he attempted conversation.

"So, what was the disagreement between you and your father?" Erart asked. He winced immediately after. Yes, Erart. So tactful. He _always_ had such a way with words. "If you don't mind me asking, that is."

"Ah... It's usually the same thing every time. Either he wants me to convince my sister, Catherine, to speak to him without sneering or he's pressing me to marry some diplomat or duke or duchess he's picked out," Harold said with a flippancy that had a hint of annoyance behind it.

"What, you don't want to get married?" Erart asked. Again, so much fucking tact.

"No, I do, but not yet, not to who he's picked out at least. It may have been okay in the eighteenth century, but today?" Harold asked. "I'm going to marry someone out of love or mutual best interest if I cannot find the former. Besides, I'm young. I'm only twenty-one. He acts like I'm some old crone or something."

Twenty-one? Harold was still young. The same age as Erart, actually. He didn't need to make huge decisions like that yet. And he was old enough to where his father didn't make those decisions for him.

"What about you? Do you want to get married?"

Erart didn't expect the question, but he should have seen it coming. They were getting to know each other still. It was likely that all of their questions would be like this. But he at least had an answer.

"I do, but I don't know when. I like the idea of being married and having a daughter that I can teach to dance. I like the idea of snuggling with my significant other at night. But..."

"But what?"

"In my line of work, I make more enemies than I do friends."

"I think you're perfectly likable."

"Well," Erart began to justify, his heartbeat speeding up. "I'm in a sport that is dominated by women. I've taken on roles that are usually performed by a woman. The ladies on cast don't typically like me or the threat that I pose to their chances."

"You can always date outside of work, you know," Harold said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Well, yeah, but I don't exactly meet many interested ladies. They're either spoken for or not at all my type," Erart said, wiping the tomato pulp from his hand on a towel that sat beside the cutting board.

"What about young men? Have you found any of those?"

Erart's thoughts all of a sudden started screaming at him. _Yes, yes I have. You, you are the one I'm interested in. You make my heart beat so fast. You make me want things I've never wanted before. I just wish I knew if you like me more than a simple fancy. I know I've barely met you, but I can't think straight around you._

Erart used both hands on the knife to dice the tomatoes, listening to the heavy fall of the knife on the cutting board for a few long moments before a soft and breathy "Yes," escaped from his mouth. "What about you?"

Erart's cheeks were on fire. He wasn't much of a flirter, and this was as close as he'd gotten in a long ass time. He didn't even have to look at Harold to be affected by him. His heart was beating so loud he was sure Harold could hear it. His skin was flushed a deep red that matched the tomatoes on the cutting board. And when he heard Harold come closer, time seemed to slow. He felt the warmth of him just behind him, gently pressing against this back. The knife was slipped out of Erart's hand by soft, gentle fingers. Those same hands then slipped around his waist and turned him around. He was pinned against the counter with Harold's hands resting on his hips.

Erart's breath caught. Harold was so close to him, only inches apart. Being this close, Erart noticed so many little details about him. The color of his eyes which was a gentle, lilting blue like the summer sky. The slight upturn of his nose. The flush on his cheeks which had to be just as red as Erart's own.

"I'm looking at him," Harold said, averting that lovely blue gaze. "I'm sorry. I know how you feel about same-sex relationships, but I'm just so infatuated by you. I-"

"Just shut up and kiss me," Erart demanded with a roll of his eyes.

Harold didn't miss a beat. He pressed his lips against Erart's and pulled his hips closer to his own. Everything around Erart seemed to melt away. His thoughts were consumed by Harold and the incredible sensations of the kiss they were sharing. Harold's lips moved so skillfully over Erart's own, leaving of flame scorched skin in their wake. It was gentle, but those flames burned so hotly it made his heart burst. Erart was gasping for breath and craving something _more_. He felt that building sensation beneath his waistband press against Harold's own. Their bodies both seemed to crave something more than the heated kiss that they had stolen in Erart's kitchen. Erart's hands went from uselessly resting at his sides to weaving their way into Harold's soft, brown locks. He pulled them gently, pressing Harold closer to him. Yes, he wanted this. He craved this more than he craved a breath of fresh air. The only thing that could have possibly disrupted this moment was the loud rumbling of Harold's stomach. Erart broke the kiss and smiled at Harold blissfully.

"We can continue that later once I've gotten some food into you," Erart said, spinning around in Harold's grasp to face the cutting board once more.

"It'll be worth the wait," Harold whispered sheepishly into Erart's ear before crossing the room and sitting down at the kitchen table.

The words sent a shiver down Erart's spine. It most definitely would be.

He and Harold talked about inane things while he cooked such as favorite colors and places to eat. All the while, Erart moved rhythmically across the kitchen as if he were dancing. He spun on his toes as he moved pots from his cabinets to the stove and then to the sink once he had had his use of them. His movements were so fluid and gentle, like breathing. Yes, this was where he needed to be.

"I don't know how you do it..." Harold said after a while.

"Do what?" Erart hummed.

"Make everything you do look like art," he replied.

Erart blushed for the umpteenth time since Harold had entered his flat. He shrugged gently to overcome it. "It's just cooking." Oh right. Not the cooking. The way he moved. "B-but I guess I like everything to have a flow. I suppose. It gives a little sense to my life."

God. He was stammering and blubbering. He couldn't think straight around Harold. To mask his complete lack of tact, Erart busied himself with fixing their plates and bowls and set them on at the table. He sat down across from Harold in one of his creaky, wooden chairs.

"So, uh, why is your father so eager to marry you off?" Erart asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Harold pursed his lips. "He's honestly just an ass. After mum died, my sister denounced the throne and her birthright as monarch of the kingdom. She blames our father for our mother's death and wanted nothing to do with him. She was his ideal ruler, you see," Harold said with an annoyed tone. It didn't seem like he was mad at his sister, but more so his own father. "As of late, Father dearest hasn't had the best of health. He just wanted to ensure that he can control my each and every important life decision before he croaks and finds a new home six feet under."

"Meaning..." Erart trailed. "He wants to pick who you marry?"

"Exactly."

"But why? What good does that do him?"

"He wants to make sure it's someone he approves of because that someone would be helping me run the country essentially. They may not have any power, but one's _significant_ _other_," Harold said the words while signally air-quotes. "Can influence their decisions in some way, shape or form. If it's someone he approves of, he can make sure that the country is run well."

"I take it he doesn't trust you to run the country then."

"Probably not," Harold said with a shrug. "But I don't really give a fuck. Still, he's got other reasons. He wants to ensure that the throne stays within the family, that whoever I marry won't steal the throne from under our family. All of this is so that after he's dead and rotting in the family mausoleum he can still monopolize the throne."

Erart whistled. "And I joke about my family politics being a mess. Yours is literally political. I couldn't imagine being a prince," he said with a snort. "The worst my father could do is never speak to me again, but I don't think he could do it. I have that lingering fear that he will, but then I remember that my brother and I are his entire world. We mean to much to him." Erart paused and then, "Why don't you just tell your father that you don't give a fuck? I mean, you so very obviously don't, and it's your life, not his. He can't decide to fuck it up for you before you've even had the chance. That's your decision to make. Not his."

"If only it were that easy. My father is the _King_ of the country. My entire life it's been his way or the high way. It probably always will be."

"But marriage isn't exactly a small decision. It's not an easy one, either. It's the person you have to spend the rest of your _life_ with. The one you have to have _sex_ with, too."

Harold gave an exasperated sigh. "Yes, the person I have to have sex with. If only Father saw it that way," the prince muttered. "Even before my mother died, he didn't believe in commitment. He's always slept around with anyone he could find, anyone with the promise of a good time."

"That doesn't mean you share the same ideals," Erart said.

"I don't," Harold said immediately. He used a firm voice that showed no fallacies in his words. "My father is a cheating scumbag of a man. I could never do that to a person, even if I didn't see any romantic interest in them. They're still my partner." A sudden, melodramatic sigh ensued from Harold's lips. "I suppose I'll just have to make a vow of celibacy, then."

"You're a virgin?" Erart blurted out. And then, "Sorry."

"Would that change your opinion of me?" Harold asked.

Erart shook his head firmly. "I'm not."

"Then, no. I'm not a virgin," Harold said before raising a brow at Erart. "Aren't you supposed to be a good, holy boy?"

Erart snorted. "Aren't you the atheist that doesn't believe in all of my hoodoo?"

"Touché," he replied. "This is good, by the way. You can taste, the uh, passion behind it."

"Yeah, right. It's passable compared to what you're used to, I'm sure," Erart said with a chuckle. Still, he was glad that the prince liked his cooking. He had heard some ghastly restaurant reviews of his. Harold was one picky eater. Erart glanced at the clock. It was well after four in the afternoon now. Tea time, really.

"I'm not kicking you out or anything, but is there anyone we can call to let them know where you are? So, ya know, they know you're not dead somewhere in this storm."

Harold shook his head. "I left my phone in the car, and I don't have phone number memorized. As cliché as it sounds, there are people for that."

Erart pursed his lips and looked out the window. The snow was coming down thick, heavy, and fast. In the glow of the streetlamps which were already hardly visible, he could see around two feet already. This weather wasn't supposed to stop until well into tomorrow morning.

"I'm not sure what to do then. I don't want anyone to worry for you," Erart said.

"I picked a great day to go for a drive... Eins is going to _kill_ me when he sees me next."

Erart shrugged. "We'll have to make due. I've got Netflix. We can watch a movie. Play a few board games."

"A movie sounds nice," Harold said, rising from the table and placing his dishes in the sink.

As Harold moved across the kitchen, Erart watched him. He seemed to be shivering despite the layers of Erart's that he was wearing. It was cold. He knew it was. Outside it had to be about around -12 degrees. Inside the flat, it was about around 18 degrees. He kept is cold because heating bills these days were outrageous. And he wasn't made of money, but he couldn't let Harold sit there and shiver. What kind of host would he be?

All of a sudden, a wave of ideas rushed through his head. Would it be too forward? He couldn't possibly ask the prince such a question, now could he? So far all that they had shared was a simple kiss. Nothing more than that. What Erart would ask would be a much higher level of intimacy. But... He wanted this. He liked Harold, and every man he had ever looked at in his life, he'd shied away from because of what he thought his father would say. Not this time. He wouldn't let Harold slip through his grasp. He needed that little bit of courage he knew he had when he was on stage, that Harold had had just a moment ago when he had kissed Erart.

"I need to shower before anything though. You know, if you're cold, you could always join me. If you want..." Erart averted his eyes and twiddled his thumbs. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. "Sorry if that's too forward."

Harold looked shocked at first but nodded gently without looking at Erart. He, too, was shy from the suggestion. "Sure, yeah. That sounds fine, too."

Erart found himself chuckling. Only a moment ago, Harold had so much bravado. He must have had a _very_ limited supply that depleted _very_ quickly. Erart took Harold's hand and led him through the hallways in his flat to the bathroom. He shut the door behind them and turned on the shower, giving the water a moment to get warm.

He glanced back at Harold before slipping his t-shirt off, leaving his very muscular back facing Harold. He heard the prince gasp slightly before chilled fingers traced over his porcelain skin. Those fingers rested very gently at Erart's waist. The dancer turned around to face the prince before crashing his lips against the other's.


	3. Part 3

**A/N/: WARNING: This chapter contains very EXPLICIT and descriptive adult sexual content and language. If you are under the age of 18, legally I'm supposed to tell you not to read this. Do I really care? Answer that for yourself. You've been warned. Read at your own risk. It gets STEAMY. Quickly.**

The second kiss the pair shared was even better than the first. The first was gentle, sweet, and tentative, but this one was full of raw passion and hunger and desire. Erart pressed Harold up against the bathroom door and his hands roamed his waist, seeking the warm skin beneath Harold's clothes. He found it quickly and managed to slip his hands higher, roaming Harold's bare chest. Harold didn't miss a beat. His hands wrapped around Erart's waist and pulled his hips closer. Erart could feel the bulge beneath Harold's pants against his own. Lord, at that moment, he wanted the prince more than anything. Erart's fingers slipped back down Harold's chest and found the hem of his shirt and hoodie. He broke off the kiss only to rip the clothing over Harold's head. His lips found Harold's neck immediately after and he kissed just below his chin, trailing down his neck to his collarbone. Erart heard him moan gently against his ear, and he lost all sense. His lips trailed down Harold's chest, kissing, nipping, and sucking on his sensitive skin as he went until he reached the waistband of Harold's sweats. He hooked his thumbs into Harold's waistband of both his boxers and his sweatpants and pulled them down over his waist, leaving them to pool at his ankles. The fabric released the bulge that was hiding beneath, and Erart sucked in a breath. He crouched in front of Harold and took his erection into his hand, stroking it gently as he would his own.

Another moan, louder this time, escaped Harold's lips. "Erart..."

The way Harold said his name sent Erart into overdrive. He enclosed his lips around Harold's tip, swirling his tongue around slightly before sliding his mouth further down the prince's shaft. It was the first time he had ever given a man head and he wasn't very far along, but all of the little gasps and moans and sudden intakes of breath that came from Harold's lips made Erart want him more. He worked his erection with his hand while sliding his lips up and down in a rhythmic pattern.

Harold's slender fingers found their way into Erart's iridescent white locks and tugged gently, pulling him back to his full height.

Erart's lips came off of Harold's tip with a quiet _pop_. They were slightly swollen and flushed a tender pink. Erart presses those lips against Harold's own, loving the sensitivity of it all. While they kissed, Erart felt Harold's hand slip down the front of his joggers and past his tights and boxers. His knees went weak as those slender fingers of his began to stroke him. God, just that little touch, the gentle caress of Harold's hand made Erart lose control. A shiver of pleasure rippled down Erart's spine. He couldn't think straight. It was as if Harold just knew all of the places that Erart liked to be touched. He muffled a moan by grazing his teeth gently on Harold's lower lip. It seemed Harold was fueled by Erart's moans. He felt the prince hastily pull at his layers of clothing before tugging them past his hips, allowing them to pool at his ankles. Erart kicked the clothing away before wrapping his hands around the back of Harold's thighs. He lifted the slender man up from the ground, the muscles in his arms flexing. After a quiet gasp of surprise, Harold wrapped his legs around Erart's waist. Erart carried Harold over to the shower and stepped inside, submerging them both in the hot spray of the water. He then set Harold down gently before pressing him against the wall of the shower, his hands on either side of Harold's head.

Breathless and flushed, Harold whispered against Erart's mouth, "I can admire a man with strength.

Erart sent a seductive grin Harold's way, water streaming down his porcelain cheeks. "Glad I can oblige."

Erart crouched down in front of Harold once more and enclosed his lips around this tip and shaft. He wrapped one hand around Harold's shaft and held on firmly to Harold's ass with the other to keep himself sturdy. His head bobbed up and down, taking in Harold's full length while also tracing circles around it with his tongue. He found himself falling into a rhythm of motion in tune with the sounds Harold was making. It was euphoric and everything Erart could have every wanted - that he didn't realize he was missing. He listened to Harold's breathing quicken. He could feel his pulse get faster. He so desperately wanted to bring Harold over the edge. His moans were louder and more frantic. And when he heard his name roll off of Harold's lips again in the midst of a moan, he thought he had succeeded.

"_Erart...!_"

Before Erart could finish him, however, the prince pulled him up again, gasps escaping his lips.

"Not yet," Harold said through heavy breaths. "Not like this. Not here."

Erart didn't have to ask how Harold wanted it. He could take a wild guess. He wanted it, too. He wanted sex with Harold, and it wanted it really fucking quick.

Erart nodded and stood up. He took a deep breath. He had to be patient. He couldn't push Harold. And he was sure that Harold didn't want to push _him_.

"Okay," he said before kissing Harold with heady, swollen lips.

He turned away from the prince and pulled his loofa from the hook on the wall. He was about to grab the bottle of shower gel as well when Harold's nimble fingers snatched it right out of his grasp. In his shock, the prince also managed to grab Erart's loofa.

"What are you doing?" Erart asked confused. "Last I check, I needed the shower. Not you."

"Shut up," Harold said gently. His cheeks were a bright pink, but it didn't seem to be from their _activities_. It seemed to be more out of embarrassment. He poured some of the soap onto Erart's loofa before saying, "Turn around."

Confused, Erart turned his back to Harold. He felt Harold gently press the loofa against the skin of his back. He raised his eyebrows in shock.

"You don't have to do that, Harold," Erart said gently.

"I know I don't," he replied. "But I want to."

"Okay," he conceded.

He had to admit, though, the touch from Harold was so intimate, so soul-baring that it made his heart soar. He was thorough, too. He explored every ounce of Harold's body with curious eyes as he gently scrubbed Erart clean. By the time he had finished, the water was already luke-warm. They were both beginning to shiver. Erart turned off the water, graced Harold with another kiss, and slipped out, offering the prince a towel to dry off with.

They didn't bother getting dressed. Instead, they wandered into Erart's bedroom. When faced with his physical bed, Erart found himself freezing up. Erart wasn't a virgin. He had lost his virginity in secondary school before he had even thought of university. He knew how to treat his partners in bed. He knew how to make them feel good, but he had never had sex with another man before, so this was a whole new experience for him. This is where Harold had leaps and bounds more experience than he did. Luckily, the prince seemed to pick up on the energy that Erart was putting off.

"They say dancers are flexible. I'd like to see that for myself," Harold whispered into Erart's ear before tearing away his towel and spreading it onto the bed. Harold then pushed him down onto the bed, his chest pressed against the mattress but his ass in the air. Erart heard Harold's own towel hit the floor with a light _thud_. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes," Erart breathed out without a moment's hesitation.

"I want you," Harold said.

Erart had to make a conscious attempt to stifle his moans. God, laying like this on his bed, presenting himself to Harold was beyond provocative, entirely exposing. "So, take me."

He heard Harold walk away from him and cross the room to his bedside table. He heard the drawer open and Erart already knew what Harold was looking for. Lube. The prince seemed to know exactly where to look, too. He heard the bottle open, some of the cool gooey liquid squirt out, and then snap closed again. Erart felt Harold's fingers gently prod at his entrance before slowly teasing his way inside of Erart, slick with the cool lubricant. He gasped first in surprise, then pain, and finally in pleasure, as Harold worked his way deeper. Erart bit down on his lower lip and went to touch himself, but Harold stopped him. He grabbed hold of Erart's wrist and pinned it down on the bed beside his head with his spare hand.

"No," Harold said sternly yet sensuously. "Don't touch yourself. Let me. I want your first time with a man - with me - to be amazing. Let me take care of you. All you need to do is feel."

Erart nodded gently and allowed his eyes to close, taking in all of the sensations that Harold was presenting to him. After the prince worked his entrance for a few minutes, he withdrew his fingers. Once again, he heard the lube bottle open and close. Instead of fingers prodding at his entrance, it was Harold's tip. He slowly slipped his way inside of Erart and the dancer grunted in pain. The pain, however, quickly subsided as Harold began to buck his hips forward and back gently. It turned into this euphoric sensation he could only equate to gradually coming to a climax from a handjob on the couch after his shows. God, but this was better. This... This. He had no words to describe what _this _was. Harold's hand then wrapped around his length, pumping his shaft in time with the movement of his own hips. He tried so hard to hold himself back, but he found himself quickly spirally out of control. Beneath Harold's warm hand, Erart came, his cum pouring over the prince's fingers.

"_Harold...!_" Erart moaned through his orgasm.

Only moments later, Erart felt the shuddering motions of Harold reaching his own orgasm inside of Erart. And for the third and final time, Erart's name rolled so elegantly and intimately off of Harold's tongue and through his lips.

It was early. Erart could tell by the way his eyes didn't want to quite open all the way as if his body was rejecting the idea of it entirely. He didn't bother forcing them open and instead allowed them to close, willing sleep to come back to him. All he needed was a little more sleep. Erart stretched out on his bed to allow himself to get more comfortable, but his hand stopped short as it reached across the cool bedsheets when his fingers came into contact with something _warm_. Erart's iridescent blue eyes forced themselves open past the crusts of sleep and looked at the sleeping face beside him. Immediately, his cheeks warmed and memories of the night before rushed back to him. Harold, the crown prince of the kingdom. The pair of them had shared a hell of a lot more than a bed the night before, and the very thought of it made Erart's heart swoon. Even though he was barely out of sleep's tight clutches, his heart raced at incredible speeds at the thought of those intense moments. He only prayed to God that they would happen again.

Erart sat up in bed and leaned over Harold. The prince was still in deep slumber that Erart didn't want to disrupt. They had been up late. After round one, they had gone off to watch a movie. By the time they were halfway through the second Harry Potter film, neither could keep their hands off of the other. They had had sex several times into the night, surely sending quite a few noise complaints to the landlord on Erart's behalf. The way Harold slept now, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath in that rhythmic pattern that left Erart entranced, was too cruel to interrupt. He wished, however, that he could wake to a sight exactly like this every morning. Erart pecked a light kiss on Harold's cheek before slipping out of bed.

The hardwood floor was like ice under his bare feet. His neighbors downstairs were even more frugal than he was. Their flat was nothing short of bitterly crisp, and Erart's toes suffered the consequences. He swept his feet over the floor until he found his slippers. He jammed his feet inside of them and silently slipped out of his bedroom, snagging his robe and some joggers on the way out. Yes, he and Harold had shared a bed the night before, but that gave him no reason to walk around his flat in the nude all morning. He dressed outside of his bedroom door to avoid disturbing Harold. He tied his robe tightly around himself and shuddered. Fuck, it was cold.

He gravitated toward the thermostat beside his front door and turned the heat up a few degrees. The temperature must have dropped in the middle of the night. He could understand why, too. A glance out his window showed him a winter wonderland of snow that was still falling in light, gentle puffs. The drifts that had accumulated were huge from the blowing wind. He doubted there'd be any cars coming through here anytime soon. He had no idea how he'd get poor Harold home, either. There was no way he could make him walk home in this weather. He already felt bad for the poor guy that trudged through the snow across the road. The snow was up to his waist. And Harold didn't even have his snow boot. He had left the house in thin, leather dress shoes. Besides, Erart told himself, it would be better if he stayed for a little while. Erart could certainly use the company, but he was sure that there were plenty of people that were worried sick over Harold, too.

As soon as Harold got up, the could address the issues. In the meantime, Erart needed coffee. _Activities_ from the night before had kept him up so late, and his internal clocked had shown him no mercy. A glance at the clock read 7 a.m. Erart mosied around the kitchen, preparing the kettle for some fresh coffee. He scooped some ground up coffee beans into his French press and sighed gently.

Of course, in his lonesome, while Harold slept, the world would decide to press down on him. He definitely had some fears with everything that had happened the night before He'd had sex before so that wasn't the issue. The issue lay in the intimacy that he and Harold had shared. He had never felt that way with any other partner of his in his life. He felt as if his soul had been stripped bare for Harold alone to see. He was afraid that it didn't quite mean the same for Harold as it did for Erart. He cared about Harold past his title and his money. He cared for him as a person and aw everything else as added baggage that, quite frankly, he'd rather _not_ have to deal with. Harold was witty and snarky, but beneath all of that, he seemed so genuine and simple. Erart could tell all he wanted was happiness and someone to share that happiness with on a deeper level than political and monetary gain. Erart merely prayed that he could be the one to share that happiness. He wanted last night to be something more than a fucking _one-night-stand_.

The kettle whistled beside Erart, and he quickly switched off the burner on the stove. He relished in the aromatic scent of fresh coffee as he poured the steaming water into the French press to steep the coffee. After pouring himself a mug and mixing in a bit of creamer, he walked over to the living room. He grabbed the TV remote and turned on the morning news. Normally, he didn't watch, mostly because he didn't like the negativity that it presented. But ever since he had landed the part in _Swan Lake_, he at the very least watched the reviews of the show. Some had been quite awful, but others had raved about the ingenuity and uniqueness of their rendition of the classic ballet. But the entertainment reviews were not on like they usually were at 7:15 a.m. Instead, there was a breaking story that made Erart's jaw drop.

"Let me switch you to Juliet with further updates on the disappearance of the crown prince, Harold," the news anchor said.

The view shifted from the primary news anchor to a young reporter with red, wind-burnt cheeks who stood outside in the snow. "Thank you, Tom. I am reporting live from the last known whereabouts of Prince Harold. The crown prince's car was found abandoned earlier this morning near a petrol station in the city's lower side. The keys were missing, but the prince's phone was found in the center console. The authorities have not released any leads from the phone or the surveillance cameras at the petrol station, but it is believed that the prince went for a drive shortly before the blizzard started yesterday afternoon. Due to high snowdrifts and white-out conditions, it is believed that after becoming stuck in the snow, the prince exited the vehicle and proceeded on foot to an unknown location. The authorities have not yet stated whether or not they believe foul play was involved, but with the rapidly dropping temperatures, we all hope that the prince is found soon. The prince's father has not released a statement, but his advisor, Eins, says that the King is deeply disturbed by his son's disappearance. We will keep you updated as the morning progresses. Back to you, Tom."

"Thank you, Juliet..."

Erart tuned out the rest when he felt Harold's arms snake around his waist from behind.

"They've always blown things wildly out of proportion when it comes to me," he said before pressing a gentle kiss on Erart's neck. "I always come home eventually."

Erart set down his coffee mug on the nearest table and turned around in Harold's grasp to face him. "I mean, you disappeared in the middle of a blizzard. I can understand why they'd be worried." He kissed Harold's forehead and then his cheek.

"But you heard them. Foul play? What kind of _foul play_ could there possibly have been?"

"I'm assuming you've never read or seen Stephen King's _Misery_?" Erart asked. Harold shook his head _no_ in reply. "A lot of foul play can happen."

Harold rolled his eyes and pressed a kiss on Erart's lips this time. "I don't want to think about any of that right now. I only want to think about you and me."

Erart nodded, smiling against Harold's lips. While they stood in one another's embrace, Erart reached around and grabbed hold of Harold's ass, gently squeezing. "It's shaped quite well, actually," he teased.

The prince let out a playful gasp and leaned in to kiss Erart again.

Before their lips met, however, there was a bang and the splintering of wood. His first thought was to get Harold hidden safely behind him. If this was a break-in, he'd protect Harold with his life. His second thought was that he'd probably never see his security deposit again with the way his door frame crumbling. In a spray of splintered wood and broken hinges, Erart's door came crashing down to the ground. He jumped back, holding his arms out in front of Harold to protect him from whatever he could.

Much to Erart's surprise, in rushed several men all in heavy white bullet-proof snowsuits. They all held imposing rifles in their hands, their fingers only inches away from the triggers. They had to be the authorities, but they felt more like trained soldiers.

A loud groan ensued from Harold. "Son of a fucking bitch. You _must_ be _fucking_ kidding me."

Erart glanced back at Harold and then at the men in front of them. They had their rifles pointed directly at Erart. He froze.

"Put your hands up and step away from Prince Harold," said the man who seemed to be in charge fo the situation.

Erart felt like a deer caught in headlights. He was suddenly numb. He had no idea what to do other than follow their directions - no, commands. What was going on? They couldn't possibly think that he was responsible for Harold's disappearance, could they? This was all one big misunderstanding! Erart swallowed, raised his hands over his head, and took a few slow steps away from Harold. As soon as he was what seemed to be a safe distance away, the authorities flanked him, ordering him to get on the ground. When he didn't immediately comply, they used the butts of their rifles to knock out the back of his knees. He stumbled and fell to the ground. One of the men pressed his foot to Erart's back, pushing him prone. Erart was in a complete daze. This couldn't be happening. He faintly heard Harold's frantic yelling over the monotone voice that was announcing his charges.

"Erart Avington, you are under arrest for the kidnapping, holding hostage of the crown Prince, Harold of Dorthore, which is considered high treason. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you can and will be used against you in the court of law..."

The rest of his rights fell upon deaf ears as he was dragged out of his flat in his robe and slippers into the bitter cold winter air. He was numb. Treason. They had accused him of treason. Never in his life had he done anything to go against his country, but all of a sudden, his life was turned upsidedown. Treason, he knew, was punishable by death.


	4. Part 4

_Harold's Perspective_

Harold was livid. He was seeing red. His temper had flared heavy and hard, and there was absolutely no calming him down. The events that had just conspired not an hour before were beyond any reason. One moment he was a hair's breadth away from kissing Erart, and the next, the dancer was acting as if he were a human shield to protect Harold from the onslaught of special force soldiers that had just barreled their way into Erart's flat. He thought it was so charming that Erart's first instinct was to protect him, but Harold wasn't the one that needed to be protected. The Special Force team was after Erart, looking to _arrest_ him of all things. To arrest him for kidnapping Harold. For treason. It was the most bullshit accusations that his father had concocted.

Yes. He knew his father was behind all of this. Who else could have orchestrated the whole thing? Who else could have corralled Special Forces to converge on Erart's flat in less than twenty-four hours? Usually, they took a hell of a lot longer to get together. They required planning and all that shit.

Erart should _not_ have been attempting to protect him. It should have actually been the other way around. And he planned out getting Erart out of this whole mess. He wanted to ensure that this whole ordeal didn't remain on his permanent record. Afterward, Harold planned to beg Erart for his forgiveness, and if he should receive it, he was going to take him out on a fucking nice date. A real one with a nice dinner and stolen kisses across the table.

But first, he was on a warpath to get to the bottom of this. He needed to address this issue with his father, but unfortunately, that was a delicate thing to do with his father. He wasn't some teenager who had a bone to pick with his average Joe father. No, his father was the king of Dorthore, quite unfortunately. He couldn't barge in demanding answers. That would disrespect and dishonor his father. Even though Harold didn't mind doing that behind his father's back, he could never disgrace his father like that. Harold at least had some morals in life, and honoring one's father and mother was one of those. Honoring them to their face, at least. What he said to Eins when he was drunk or upset was an entirely different story.

Harold stood outside one of the back doors to the throne room, pacing vigorously in his designer suit. He hated that he had to wear the thing, now of all times. Physical vanity and appearances pleased his father. He would have preferred to storm in with his sex-tangled hair and Erart's sweatpants and t-shirt, but that wouldn't have been presentable in the least. It would have made him look like some homeless wretch that came to beg the king for mercy. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but he really needed his father to take him seriously.

Harold rubbed at his face with cold, sweaty palms. He couldn't erase the images of Erart being dragged from his flat from his head. When Special Forces barged in, they had pinned Erart to the floor, searched his person briefly, and dragged him from the flat in his robe and slippers. They hadn't even given him a coat. Harold burst from the flat after him, attempting to stop them. He yelled at them and cursed at them and did many un-prince-like actions as he followed them down the stairs out of the residential building. They corralled Erart into one of two large humvees waiting outside - they were the only vehicles that would have been able to get through this blizzard. Of course his father would send them.

Special Forces had to physically hold him back from attempting to rip Erart from their grasp once they got outside. After they had managed to get Erart secured in the vehicle, they attempting to usher Harold into the other, informing him that he was safe and that he needn't worry any longer. He refused, standing boldly out in the snow, his feet cold and bare. He ordered them to let Erart go. He told them that this was all one big misunderstanding, but after standing outside of the building in the cold for fifteen minutes while Special Forces waited for him to enter the vehicle, he'd realized it was a lost cause. He knew his shouts and orders were falling on deaf ears. They even looked at him with pity and sympathy. They knew this was all wrong, but they were loyal to his father. It was out of their hands. They only followed orders.

He didn't know where the humvee carrying Erart had gone, but he assumed it went to the prison in the city. Harold didn't know what the place was like for he had never been there before, but he assumed it wasn't going to be anything ideal. He hated the idea that Erart even had to go there in the first place. He didn't even want to know what the people his father had interrogating Erart were doing to the poor dancer. He couldn't fathom the idea that they would hurt him on Harold's behalf.

Harold took in a deep breath and went to push through the door to the throne room when he heard voices. Familiar voices. Voices that belonged to his father and Eins.

"Sire, are you sure you made a wise decision?" Eins asked Harold's father.

An angry sputtering ensued from King Howard's lips. "Yes! It is, thank you very much! Hell, I want him more than arrested and put on trial for some petty sentence. I want him executed! It's treason! Treason I tell you!"

Harold could imagine Eins' face going into a deadpan behind his father's back. "Sire, it's the 21st century. It takes a lot more than accusing someone of treason to get them executed. It's quite a lengthy process," Eins said delicately.

"I don't care. Speed it up! I want it done. Holding my son hostage, the crown prince no less!" King Howard raged.

Harold sucked in a deep breath and pushed his way through the door. He had heard enough of his father's idiotically uninformed remarks.

"With all due respect, father," Harold said, striding across the room to come face to face with his father. He offered the man a curt bow at the waist and nothing more. "I think you're blowing this whole situation out of proportion."

King Howard stopped his ranting and raving and looked at Harold with a look that was mixed with relief and concern. "Harold, my son, I'm beyond relieved that you are alive and well," King Howard exclaimed, opening his arms to hug his son. Harold unwillingly accepted the fatherly gesture that was jarringly absent during his childhood. It felt so staged. His father was trying to stay in his good graces, but it wasn't working. "But, please, pray tell, how am I blowing this out of proportion? You were held hostage by some low-life in the middle of the ghetto. I think I'm handling this situation quite well. I can't let them go unpunished."

Harold rolled his eyes. "Father, usually I try to be as nonconfrontational as I possibly can out of respect for you, but honestly. Anyone with any sense would have thought to ask me what happened before jumping the gun and arresting an innocent man."

King Howard's eyes narrowed as he settled himself down on his throne. "Your safety was the primary concern, Harold," he said cooly. He didn't seem to like his son challenging reasoning. "I had him arrested and removed from the situation before you could be harmed."

Harold rolled his eyes again. It was bullshit. After arriving back at the palace, Harold was swept off to the royal family's primary physician for a wellness check. He was chastised for standing outside without the proper dressings as he could have gotten frostbite or pneumonia, but otherwise, the doctor had only found a multitude of hickies littering Harold's skin. He was as fit as a fiddle. There was no room for concern. He was perfectly fine.

"I wasn't in harm's way at all. I was there on my own devices."

"Then how do you explain all of the bruises? Doctor Astley said you had bruises all over your body," his father said quickly, grasping for straws after his son's admission.

Harold snorted and glanced in Eins' direction. His friend was smirking as if he already knew the answer. "Spare me your surprise. Astley was protecting my privacy and saving you from alarm," Harold drawled.

"What are they from, Harold?" his father pressed, his voice leaving no room for argument.

"If you really must know-"

"I must."

Harold threw his hands in the air and gave an exasperated sigh. "Dad, they're hickies. They're fucking hickies," Harold shouted in utter exasperation. "We fucked. We had fucking sex, but I can't even keep that to myself as a prince. You'd figure I could keep that small portion of my life private, but no. _His majesty_ must know everything."

Harold took in a deep breath and looked at his father. He needed to handle this better. He couldn't be disrespectful. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't shout at you, father. Forgive me."

"You are forgiven, son," King Howard said. There was a long silence, and then the King leaned toward Eins, who stood diligently besides the throne. He asked in what he seemed to think was a whisper, "Are you sure Doctor Astley did not diagnose him with Stockholm Syndrome?"

"Father, you must be _kidding_ me," Harold said, struggling to keep his voice level. "After our disagreement yesterday, I went for a drive. The snow started and I got stuck. I wasn't in the best of areas, so I decided to walk to the first place I could think of. I had Erart's addressed in my wallet, so I went there. Would you have preferred me to walk all the way here? I would have frozen to death by the time I arrived."

Harold paused again.

Their disagreement yesterday was the reason behind _all_ of this. His father was just tangling his hands deeper and deeper into Harold's life while he was still living.

He narrowed his gaze at his father. "You seriously were that upset about me wanting to marry who I want to marry?" Harold asked, his voice quiet.

"Harold, I-"

"You really went as far as to _arrest_ the man I was seeing because of your need to control my life?" he asked, his voice getting louder now.

"I'm doing what is best for you, Harold."

"What's best for me? You think you know what's best for me?" Harold challenged. He was shouting again, but this time he didn't give a rat's ass about being respectful. This had gone too far. "You think you'll know what's best for me once you force me into some unwanted marriage where I'll either suffer my entire life or kill myself just to get out of it? How is that what's best for me? Just because you were unhappy married to my mother doesn't mean you can force me to be miserable. It makes so much sense why Kat refuses to come home. You've pushed her away. Don't do the same to me."

A pained look briefly crossed his father's face at the mention of his mother and sister, but it disappeared before Harold was even sure it was there. "I won't let you bring this kingdom to ruin, Harold. You can't go about giving your body away to whomsoever you please. You have a duty as the heir to this kingdom to marry well and strategically."

"I duty I will gladly rid myself of if you force me into something I don't want. There are plenty of balconies in this prison you call a palace that I can throw myself off of when no one is looking," Harold said, his tone dark and serious. He loved his country, but he would not live a life in misery just to serve his father's will. Not when he had finally something in his life that was worth fighting for...

If it had been two years previously when Eins had decided his own path in life, before he had ever heard of the dancer named Erart Avington, Harold might have allowed himself into an arranged marriage. Ever since he first saw Erart dance his way across the stage, however, he had been entranced. For months, all he could do was look up silly YouTube interviews of the dancer. All he could think of were those big, beautiful blue eyes and that sheepish smile Erart had when he was nervous. He hadn't even met the dancer, but he had fallen in love with the idea of him. After meeting him and learning some of the nuances of his personality, Harold craved to learn more. He had become obsessed with learning every little detail of Erart's life he could, and he couldn't explain why. But living in that unhappy marriage his father wanted to arrange when Erart was so close to his grasp would quite literally send him over the edge. He could never cheat on his spouse, so seeing Erart in secret not an option. Harold had decided very quickly after that a life without love was a life hardly worth living. If he could not marry as he wished, then he would simply cease living at all.

King Howard glared at his son for a long, tense while, his eyes searching his face for some inkling of beguilement, but when he came up empty-handed, he loosed a resigned sigh.

"I'd rather not have to bury my only son," he said ruefully. "What do you want of me, Harold? All I've ever done is try to do what is best for you."

"I want you to get your fingers out of my personal love affairs. They are none of your business. I will marry who I want. And you had no business dragging an innocent man into your petty quarrels."

"Fine. I'll allow it," King Howard said with a tight-lipped grimace.

Harold breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Father."

King Howard did not reply. He simply stood from the throne and sent an unwarranted glare in Eins' direction.

"Tell them to release the boy," King Howard said, scorn lacing his voice. "I'll be in my study. I wish to be alone."

The words Harold was praying to hear had finally come out. They would release Erart.

Harold was pacing in the main foyer of the palace, waiting for the car transporting Erart to arrive. The snow had started again, making their arrival an agonizingly long wait. He had to see him. He had to see Erart and apologize that he had gotten in tangled into such a situation. Eins stood there waiting with him.

"That was rather bold of you, you know," Eins said for the millionth time since he returned from making his calls to the prison to release Erart. "I never thought in a million years I'd see you stand up to your father."

Harold sighed. "It was coming. It had been building up for a long while now," Harold said gently.

"So how was it?"

"How was what?" Harold asked, glancing at Eins.

His friend raised his eyebrows over the frames of his rounded glasses. "You know, the sex. Was it at least good?"

Harold blushed and averted his gaze, a smile playing on his lips. "The best I've ever had."

"Better than you and me?" Eins asked softly.

Harold hesitated for a moment. He hadn't expected that question, but in the end, he nodded. "Yes, it was better. You know, there's a point in life when you meet someone and you determine that they are the one for you. You don't ask for it, you never see it coming. That person suddenly becomes the reason you breathe. I think I have found my person."

Harold chanced a look at Eins and saw that he had a small, nostalgic smile playing on his lips. He looked sad almost.

"Good. I'm glad. You deserve to be happy."

Harold smiled at his dear friend. "You do, too, Eins," he said. He then went out on a whim. "Look, Eins, I see the way you act around Brandon, and you only act that way to a person when you either really hate them or really love them. So tell me. When did you get over Brandon throwing that rock at your head and realize you loved him?"

Eins looked at Harold with a shocked expression, but he still answered. "About a year ago. You always knew me best, Harold."

"Always, Eins."

Their conversation was cut short when the car finally pulled into the drive, Harold ran out the front door, tugging his coat on hastily as he ran. He skidded to a stop in front of the car and waited for the driver to open the back door. When Erart stepped out of the car, Harold's breath caught in his throat and his heart plummeted.

He had imagined that Erart would come out of this okay. He had hoped that the pair of them would be able to laugh this whole ordeal off in a few day's time over a couple of glasses of wine. Those hopes were dashed away at the sight of Erart.

Harold grabbed Erart's hand without a word and pulled him toward the palace. He dragged him into the first vacant room he could find, brushing right past Eins, who looked upon the pair with shock.

When they were alone, Harold pulled Erart into a crushing hug.

"Oh my God, Erart," Harold breathed, tears stinging his eyes. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Erart's arms did not return Harold's hug. His arms hung uselessly at his sides. Instead, his voice replied in a quiet monotone. "You can't use the Lord's name in vain when you don't even believe in him, Harold," he said before wrapping his arms around Harold just as tightly as Harold hugged him. And like a tidal wave, heavy, harsh sobbed racked through Erart's chest.

Harold's heart broke. He never thought he'd see his strong, handsome dancer in such a state. Never in his wildest dreams, and it was all Harold's fault.

Once Erart's sobs subsided, Harold held him out at an arm's length and looked him over. The lower portion of his right eye socket was swollen and black and blue. It was probably broken. His jaw was also bruised on the left side as if his face had been used as somebody's punching bag. Anger and hatred boiled inside of Harold, but he suppressed it. Erart needed him right now, and he needed him calm and collected.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

Erart nodded. It seemed he really needed to get it out, too, because his words came out in a rushed flurry. "They held me in a cell for an hour or two. I was alone. I didn't have any contact with anyone. You don't know what was going through my head. They had accused me of treason, Harold. I have never done anything to warrant that in my life, and suddenly after one of the best nights of my life, I'm a traitor. I was miserable...

"When the interrogator came to get me, I thought maybe, just maybe, I'd at least be able to get some answers to this whole skewed situation. Maybe I'd be able to plead my case, but they had other ideas... Harold, it was never about you going missing. It was sick and twisted... Make me never want to look at the Prince again, he said, Harold. Make me regret ever doing the things I did with you because scum like me could never earn the right to do such things," Erart said with a shudder, his voice soft. "I'm lucky I got out of there with only a black eye and a dislocated jaw. Harold, they threatened to make it so I could never dance again... I don't know what I would do if-"

Harold cut him off. "I can't hear anymore, Erart," he whispered, pulling Erart into another embrace. He held onto him as if he was the only thing keeping him grounded in life. "I can't... I'm so sorry you had to go through that. I'm so sorry I got you tangled into my family affairs. You didn't deserve this. You could never deserve that, and I promise I will never let it happen to you again." Harold paused to swallow and take in a deep breath, preparing himself for the things he was about to say. He already felt his heart breaking as he thought of them. "I understand if you never want to see me again after that. I'm bad news. I've only caused you to get hurt. Please, don't feel like you have to stay. I only hope you can forgive me for this because I already know that I'll never be able to forgive myself."

Erart shook his head rapidly. "No," he said resolutely. "I already feel like I'd cease to breathe if you weren't around. I can't explain why, but-"

"I know. I feel the same," Harold said, cutting Erart off.

"So what do we do?" Erart asked, looking Harold in the eye.

"I'm not sure. All I can think to do is keep breathing."

**A/N/: So. This chapter had some stark character differences from the Webtoon that I wanted to point out. Erart is shell shocked after what happened which is unlike him. In the comic, he's a prince and he's a soldier. Being a prince makes him very outspoken and opinionated. As a soldier, he is very desensitized to violence and takes it without any hardcore trauma. As a regular citizen, he can't act that way in front of Royalty In this. He is also not a soldier in the modern AU which he is so broken after his encounter with the special forces. It makes a huge difference what time period the characters are in because it helps build them up. I would not write Erart to be so brash in the face of danger because that would be the scariest thing he's come across in his life. I thought this was important to point out cause yeah. He's very different from the Webtoon. Thank you for reading. I hope to get the next and final chapter up soon. Thaaanks.**


	5. Epilogue

_Erart's Perspective_

Erart glanced down at his phone screen, his blue eyes desperately searching for a message from Harold. There were none. He was over forty-five minutes late. Harold was never late in the two years they'd been dating - well, courting was the correct word for it. He may have had a poor habit of sleeping until the last possible second and rushing out the door, but he'd never been this late before.

Erart was worried. Harold had called him the day before asking if Erart would like to go to the pier after practice, and Erart had readily agreed. He had been working on the ballet of Hamlet for almost a week now and was eagerly looking for a break. He needed an afternoon away from his flat and away from the stage. But Erart hadn't expected Harold to want to go out. For the last month or so, he'd been shut up at home, waiting for his father to pass. An aggressive form of lung cancer had crippled King Howard in only three months. Doctors hadn't given him much more time to live. Harold wasn't exactly heartbroken over it - he knew it was coming and his relationship with his father was rocky at best - but he wasn't exactly happy either. What child wanted their parents to do? Harold had already lost his mother at a young age. Now his father by the time he was twenty-three? It was heartwrenching in Erart's opinion.

After his father's passing, Harold would have to be prepared to assume the throne. He'd spent the last three months learning the ins and outs of being a ruler. He had to learn more in-depth politics than he had ever before. That was an actual clusterfuck.

But now Harold was late to their date, and as Erart had mentioned before, Harold was never late. He was worried that maybe things with Harold's father had taken a turn for the worst. Maybe he was sitting at his father's bedside. Maybe his father had already passed, and Harold was in the middle of mourning. Erart had no idea because he had yet to receive any sort of indication from Harold. Erart hoped everything was okay at home... With Harold so worried about being away when his father passed, he hadn't left the house much. This was their first date in a while, and Erart wanted it to go over well.

Just as Erart was beginning to lose hope that Harold was coming, he saw him jogging through the crosswalk toward Erart who stood at the gates to the pier.

"I'm sorry I'm late!" he said in a rush as he approached Erart. "I got stuck in another meeting, and I'm sorry, Erart."

Erart smiled at Harold. He understood that his life was a mess right now. "Don't worry about it. I understand."

Erart kissed Harold lightly before turning to the gates of the pier.

"What did you want to do?" he asked, glancing over at Harold who was walking beside him now. The pier itself was more than just a dock going over the water. It was more of an amusement park of sorts, a tourist attraction. It had food vendors, small shops, and even a large Ferris wheel that Harold and Erart had the tendency to go on just to escape the public's eye for a few minutes.

"Dunno. I figured we could walk around, get some food, hit the Ferris wheel," Harold replied. "I could use a bite to eat myself right now. I'm not sure about you."

Erart nodded. He could use some food. They grabbed baskets of fish and chips from one of their favorite vendors, but despite being the one to make the suggestion, Harold hardly touched his basket. After getting about a third of the way through his own, he sighed gently. Harold had just not been himself lately.

"Harold, what's bothering you? Did something happen with your dad?" he asked gently, rubbing Harold's hand which rested on the table.

"Hmm?" Harold asked, his eyes focused on his hands. "Oh... Well, no, but it's not getting any better. And honestly, I'm not sure if I'm ready. It's not the 18th century anymore when you were given the throne and expected to lead the country at 14. People don't blindly follow anymore. What if I'm not good enough?"

Erart perked a brow at Harold. This wasn't like him at all. Harold was always so sure of himself. For a second, the prince had him fooled. He had him actually had him thinking that there was some form of self-doubt swarming inside of him. But Harold had never been a good actor. He definitely had something else bothering him, something he was lying to Erart about. Something that Erart wasn't going to press if Harold wasn't going to talk about it. But he wasn't going to let him get away with lying. "It doesn't matter if you're good enough or not. They don't really have a choice either way. But I honestly only see you not being good enough because you keep doubting yourself. Stay firm in your decisions, don't freak out, and you'll do fine," Erart said, holding Harold's hand in his. "But also, don't lie to me because I can always tell when you are."

Harold flushed a bright red. "Sometimes I wonder why I even try," Harold muttered, averting his gaze toward his food which he finally started to eat.

"Yeah, sometimes I wonder, too."

They finished their lunch, talking about random things, but never the thing that was actually bothering Harold. How Hamlet was going. Harold's insistence that his sister should at least come home to see their father's passing because it would mean so much to the dying king. It would show him respect. Erart's relationship with his father that was finally starting to mend after he told him he was courting the crown prince. Their mutual love for anything Disney. When they finally finished their lunches and found the bottom of their baskets, they made their way toward the Ferris wheel.

It was a clear, perfect day for looking out on the city and all of Dorthore. And despite being a warm summer day, the line moved quickly. They climbed into their car and slowly made their way up. Erart looked absently out the window, enjoying his view.

"I can't believe all of this will soon be mine, Erart," he said. "But it feels like something is missing, something important."

"Hmm? How so?" Erart asked with a hum.

"Being a King is a lonely experience. I don't exactly have many friends or anything, aside from Eins, that is. I need someone to share it with, someone like you."

"Harold, what are you talking-" Erart's words were cut short as soon as he turned to look at Harold.

His jaw dropped. Harold was before him, on one knee as best as he could muster in the cramped quarters of the Ferris wheel car, open ring box in hand. In the box sat a delicate yet formidable tungsten ring with diamonds in the center of the band.

"When we first met, you told me you could never imagine being a prince, and I think that goes the same way for being a prince consort, but Erart, believe me when I say I can't imagine spending my life with anyone aside from you. So please, don't make me look like a fool and say yes."

Erart was stunned. Amidst it all, with the chaos of Harold's father and even his own, Erart hadn't expected Harold to propose. He threw his arms around him in a tight hug.

"I don't think I could imagine life unless I were with you, so yes."

Harold hugged Erart back tightly.

"I'm glad you said yes. I would have just about died of embarrassment otherwise," he said as they separated from their hug. Harold them removed the ring from the box and gently slid it onto Erart's hand.

"How on Earth... Is my father okay with this?" Erart asked, marveling at the ring. This was real.

"That was the tricky part. I've been trying to win him over for six months now. I've gone to lunch with him on several occasions. I've come to visit. I've done a lot. That's why I was late today. I've had this ring for months now, and when he called me over to his house, I had to go despite being late."

"It was well worth the wait," Erart said with a smile.

_Harold's Perspective_

Three days after the announcement of their engagement, Harold's father, King Howard, died. The time following was full of mourning, preparations for the wedding, and Harold's coronation as the king of the country. As was typical with the royal family and Harold in particular, all were grandiose affairs. The day Harold was most nervous and excited for, however, was the wedding.

The day had finally come. All of the preparations were in order. Well, all but one.

"I knew I shouldn't have sent Brandon to pick up your crown, Harold. He's always getting into some trouble," Eins said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "First he hits me in the head with a rock. I give him a second chance. Now he's late on such an important date."

Harold glanced at Eins with an irritated look. "Remind me again why you're with him?" Harold asked, raising a brow as he pulled on his black suit jacket.

"You told me to," Eins said with equal amounts of irritation. "I do recall you telling me to follow my heart, Harold."

"Well, your heart must have really low standards, then. Your head would have had better."

"The standards between my head and my heart have no variation, thank you very much."

"Yes, they do. You usually court people with more than _one_ brain cell, Eins."

"And I am," Eins said in a deadpan. "Brandon has two."

"That's not a very nice thing to say, Eins," Brandon said with a slight pout as he rushed into the room with an intricate wooden box in his hands.

"I'm only kidding, Brandon," Eins said with the most plastered on fake smile Harold had ever seen, the liar. "What kept you so long? It's only a three-minute drive."

"Traffic is utterly insane. How many people did you invite, Harold?"

Harold groaned inwardly. He didn't even bother to answer the question. There were way too many. He and Erart had gone over the list a thousand times and have very little success downsizing. If it were a normal wedding, it would have been easy, but because it was good form to invited every duke and duchess and Grand Marquis in the kingdom, the guest list had quickly multiplied. Erart had a measly twenty people coming, and those were mostly girls from dance, his father, and his grandfather. Harold had managed to secure their front seats at the very lest. He didn't want Erart's only guests to be so far back.

Eins approached Harold with his crown in hand. It had been polished just for today despite having been done just two months ago for his coronation. Eins placed the golden wreath of leaves upon Harold's head and straightened it. He then straightened his tied and pocket protector on his suit.

"You look as good as you'll get," Eins conceded, taking a step back.

"You should get ready, too. You are my best man. You'll have to do pretty damn well to show up Erart's brother, Cardin. He's _almost_ as flawless as Erart."

"Shut up, Harold," Eins said before leaving the room with Brandon in towe.

In all honesty, Harold was nervous. This wasn't just his coronation. This was his wedding day. He didn't care about impressing the kingdom. He was their king either way. They had to deal with that. He cared about impressing Erart, the man he was about to vow to spend the rest of his life with. He wanted to impress him more than anything. What if he stumbled over the words in his vows? What if he tripped as he came down the aisle to the throne dais in which the ceremony was taking place? There were one million things that could go wrong, and Harold was worried about each and every one of them.

Harold took in a deep breath. What the fuck was going on? He was usually so confident in himself. He almost never doubted any of his decisions, never worried about how it would all play out because at the end of the day, it always ended out okay. So why now of all times could he not keep a level head? He took another deep, steadying breath and smoothed his hands over his suit jacket. He looked himself over in the long mirror. He looked impeccable. Not a hair was out of place There wasn't a single wrinkle in his black suit. His shoes were shined to the nines. On the outside, he could do this. On the inside, he'd have to convince himself before Erart came down the aisle.

Harold stood in the front of the throne room, in front of his family, Erart's family, friends, and diplomats. The cameras in the back that were capturing this event flashed all around him. The Wedding March was playing. His palms are sweaty, but all of that had faded away. All Herald to focus on what's his handsome groom that had been revealed from behind heavy wooden doors at the back of the throne room.

Erart.

He was dressed in all white - white suit, white tie, and white shoes. Silver accents adorned his appearance - his cufflinks, pocket protector, and the intricate, silver leafy band that rested upon his wavy, silvery hair. He was like an angel walking down the aisle toward Harold. He had never believed in angels before, but for a moment, he was convinced Erart was one. Despite being the outsider in a room full of nobles and diplomats, Erart walked down the aisle, shoulders squared, head raised high, confident in himself. His confidence calmed Harold immediately.

Erart joined him, Eins, and Cardin on the dais in the front of the crowd of people. Harold and Erart joined hands and faced one another. The official who was ordaining their marriage began the ceremony. When the time came fro their vows, Harold finally felt as if he were ready.

Harold glanced back at Eins who gave him a look as if telling him to get on with it. He nodded more to himself than anything.

"Erart, in the time that I've known you, I've realized a few things. I realized what commitment is. It's more than just being loyal to one another. It's more than just saying you're in a relationship. It's sticking together despite the other's flaws, fears, and ideals. It's giving yourself to another, in devoting your time and energy into making them feel confident in themself and their relationship, in making them feel worthy, in making them feel your love and as if they're worth your time of day. Since the day we met, I've tirelessly tried to make you feel all of this, and when you said yes to marrying me, I finally felt like I succeeded.

" I've also learned that love goes beyond appearances. it reaches into the deepest parts of us. It turns us into the best versions of ourselves, two people capable of so much more than we'd ever thought before. You do this to me, and that is why I love you Erart Avington. With this ring, I seal my promise of love and commitment to you through life and whatever it may throw at us," Harold said, sliding a silver band onto Erart's finger.

Erart smiled widely at Harold and squeezed his hands before diving into his own vows.

"Harold, since we met, you've frustrated me to no end. There wasn't a time that you weren't late by at least five minutes. A lot of the time, your hair was a mess from oversleeping and you'd left your wallet at home. Sometimes, I've wondered how you haven't gained any weight from all the junk food that you eat with no exercise. We've nearly gotten mugged too many times walking through my neighborhood, and you can't throw a punch to save your life, so I always had to save us from those messes.

"But above all of that, there have been more reasons that I've come to love you. Your attention to detail. Your love of philosophy. Your natural ability to lead. The way you made me realize I'd so foolishly believed that love like this and marriage could only exist between a man and a woman. I've never been more happy, willing, and relieved to admit that I was wrong. Before I met you, I was convinced that all I needed to breathe was dance. I never realized how deep a breath could actually be until you breathed one into me. And now that we're here, actually moving onto the next step of us, I couldn't be more proud and honored to have the responsibility to ensure that I repay the favor by giving you just as deep of breaths that I take now. With this ring, I promise to give you all of me, whatever I can offer," Erart said, sliding a gold band onto Harold's own finger.

The officiator placed a hand over their joined ones. "With the vows in place, we shall proceed. Do you, King Harold, take Erart Avington as your lawfully wedded husband and prince consort through happiness and sadness, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

Harold nodded his head and said in the most confident voice, "I do."

"Do you, Erart Avington, take King Harold as your lawfully wedded husband through happiness and sadness, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

"I do."

Color flooded Harold's world. This was it. They were-

"I now pronounce your King and prince consort, husband and husband. You may now kiss the groom."

Harold placed his hands on Erart's cheeks, cradling his face in his hands. He kissed Erart tenderly and with as much passion as when they'd first met. His life was now complete.

"I love you, Mr. Verlag," Erart said with a ghost of a breath against Harold's lips.

"I love you, too, Mr. Verlag."

The end.

**A/N/: Thank you for reading my Resplendent fanfiction! I had a ton of fun writing it for the lovely Diby! Leave your comment and feedback because I love it. Also, this project will have a special place in my heart because *cough cough* it's one of the few that I have actually finished! Again, thank you so much. Go read Resplendent and give Diby some love.**


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